


Three and a half foot angel or not

by Redring91



Series: Redring91's MoreLoveForCas 2016 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amused Sam, BAMF Castiel, Big Brother Gabriel, Castiel's Handprint, Castiel's Trenchcoat, Castiel/Dean Winchester Cuddles, Comfort, Cute Castiel, Cute Castiel/Dean Winchester, De-Aged Castiel, Fluff, Gen, M/M, MoreLoveForCas, Mother Hen Dean, Panicking Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redring91/pseuds/Redring91
Summary: All they had wanted was one easy, straightforward, non-apocalyptic hunt.Instead, there is an Angel of the Lord who doesn't understand why humans think the height of his vessel is relevant; a hunter so not prepared for this three and a half foot package of cute trouble; a younger brother being supportive to the first and amused at the latter; and an older brother who makes everything better with pancakes.-





	

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> Written for the #MoreLoveForCas month (October 2016), with a ‘make me choose’ theme for each week.
> 
> Week One: 1st – 5th Oct: Cas’s Trench Coat or Cas Without His Tie (I chose Cas's Trench Coat)
> 
> My initial thought was ‘how cute would a de-aged Cas look, refusing to relinquish his adult sized trench coat,’ followed by ‘de-aged Cas is still a badass warrior though,’ and over 5,000 words later, I’m still not quite sure what happened.
> 
> -

-

 

Dean figures he should have known that the day would go to hell. All they had wanted was one easy, straightforward, non-apocalyptic hunt. Is that so much to ask? Freaking Witches. He swiftly ducks behind a tree to avoid a bolt of red lightning that streaks in his direction.

 

Sam had found the hunt – a body had been found at the edge of the woods on the outskirts of a small town, shrivelled and decayed like a thousand year old corpse. But the body had been eventually identified as Kristine Harland, who had been a very healthy twenty seven year old woman the day before. A little digging into the town’s records had revealed a similar case every sixty or so years; a dried out and apparently ancient corpse discovered near the woods the day after a townsperson in their twenties went missing.

 

Castiel had turned up then, to take time out from his search for God. He reported that he had spent some time at Mount Nebo, without success. Dean found himself reaching out to straighten the lapels of his trench coat as he asked Cas how it was. He hadn’t been surprised when Cas responded that it had been windswept – the word had accurately described how the angel had looked. When he had caught Sam watching them, Dean hastily filled Cas in on the hunt. After a moment of consideration, Cas determined a witch was likely behind the deaths, using a ritual to drain the life force of the victims.

 

So they had gone into the woods to find the witch. It had been a straightforward case, and most importantly nothing at all to do with the apocalypse. One witch against two Winchesters and an Angel of the Lord, it should have been easy, one swift job with no complications.

 

The witch – a handsome man who has been sustaining his youth for six centuries on the stolen life force he sucked from his victims – shrieks with fury as he hurls lightning from where he stands, in front of an altar in the clearing. Castiel is almost dancing as he twists out of the way of each strike, his trench coat swirling out behind him. The witch’s attention is entirely on the man he cannot hit, giving both Sam and Dean time to try to sneak past him and destroy the altar. Dean hopes Sam is having better luck at making ground than he is.

 

A bolt of lightning connects with a nearby tree and a large chunk of it suddenly turns to ash, causing the rest of the tree to groan uneasily as wood creaks. Dean suddenly decides to move further away from it. He darts out from the tree he is sheltering behind, intending to make a wide arc to another clump of trees just shy of the altar. He’s halfway there when he has to jump back – lightning rushes near the trees he was aiming for.

 

Dean realises too late that stopping has left him exposed.

 

Several things happen at once. The witch gives a triumphant shout and hurls his next handful of lightning at Dean. Sam jumps out from his cover of trees and upends the entire altar. Castiel yells Dean’s name and _moves_.

 

Then there is a hand on Dean’s shoulder and he’s fiercely launched to the side. He hits the ground, tumbling as a thunderclap booms and a giant red cloud sizzles with lightning in the place that Dean had been standing a moment before.

 

“Cas!” Sam cries.

 

Dean barely has time to process this, as the sound of Sam’s voice alerts the witch to his presence. As the witch turns, rounding on his brother, Dean raises his gun from where he’s sprawled on the ground. He shoots the witch several times in the back. The witch screams in agony as his body begins to rapidly age before crumbling into dust. Dean stumbles to his feet and whirls around.

 

The red cloud has dissipated, revealing a crumpled trench coat on the forest floor.

 

No! “Cas? Cas!” Dean races over towards the pile of clothes. No, no, no, no, NO! Dean feels panic spreading through his chest and his hands shake as he reaches for the trench coat. He freezes when the trench coat moves. “Cas?”

 

A small head pokes it way out from beneath the trench coat, blue eyes blinking in bewilderment.

 

“Oh god.” Sam says as he stares at the young child tangled up in the now oversized clothes.

 

Dean’s relief at finding the angel alive is so overwhelming that all he can do is laugh. “Aw, who’s a little cutie pie?”

 

Cas tilts his head and squints at Dean. “I am uncertain as to what pie has to do with this situation, Dean. But I am glad to see you are unharmed.” Dean splutters in surprise at the coherent answer and Cas continues, glancing between him and Sam. “I assume the witch has been taken care of?”

 

-

 

Sam buys Cas some kids clothes once the shops open that morning. Cas consents to exchange Jimmy’s suit ensemble for the outfit Sam gives him – a grey shirt with white stars and dark blue jeans – but he eyes the offered jacket with disdain, opting to put his trench coat back on. It drapes down on the floor behind him and he scrunches up the sleeves until his hands are exposed. Of course, the moment he lowers his arms to his sides, the sleeves fall down again. Cas frowns at them, confused by their disobedience. Sam and Dean avoid looking at each other, struggling not to laugh.

 

Dean can’t help but think ‘adorable,’ despite having to scold himself the moment he does. Though, once they arrive at the diner for breakfast, it’s clear that everyone else seems to be thinking the same thing. Several of the other patrons coo and giggle behind Cas’s back. If the angel notices he ignores them all, climbing into the booth to sit beside Dean.

 

Dean orders three serves of waffles. Once the waitress leaves, Cas turns to him. “I don’t need to eat,” he reminds the hunter.

 

“We know Cas,” Sam says patiently. “But people are going to notice if we don’t feed you, and we don’t want to give them a reason to pay any more attention to you than they are doing.”

 

Dean almost makes a crack about parental neglect before wisely deciding that is not something Cas needs to hear right now, not with the way his God hunt is going. Instead he just says, “don’t worry, waffles are great, you’ll like them.”

 

“So how do you feel?” Sam asks. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“My true form is undamaged. My vessel was only affected because I am cut off from Heaven.” Cas pushes his sleeves back up his arms. “My grace is working to correct the imbalance the witch caused, though I am taking measures in order to expedite the process. Angels do not usually connect their true forms as deeply with their vessels as I am doing presently, because of the risk of falling.” Castiel hesitates and the unspoken truth that such a precaution was moot for him given his current circumstances is understood by all three of them. “If I conserve my grace, allow it to work solely on this matter, I believe my physicality should revert back to its usual appearance within several days.”

 

Sam and Dean both agree this is good news. The waitress returns with their order and the brothers begin to tuck into their food. Cas side-eyes Dean before mimicking him, taking his cutlery and carving his waffles into pieces. He eats thoughtfully, his cheeks bulging.

 

Sam turns his laugh into a cough and then asks what their new plans are going to be for the week. “Should we head to Bobby’s and lie low until this is sorted out?”

 

Dean nods. “I reckon that’s a good plan.”

 

“I thought you had both wished to find another hunt.” Cas remarks as he inquisitively inspects his glass of juice.

 

“Yeah,” Dean hedges. “But Cas, uh, you’re kinda pint sized right now buddy.”

 

Castiel’s eyes narrow. The look is not quite as intimidating as it usually is. “I am an Angel of the Lord. The height of my vessel is irrelevant.”

 

“Other humans won’t think so,” Sam points out carefully. “They’ll be suspicious if we bring you along to interviews and things.”

 

“Oh.” Cas has his ‘humans are strange’ expression on, and he dismisses the matter. He picks up his plate, his food only half-eaten, and puts it on top of Dean’s empty one. “You can have the rest of my waffles Dean.”

 

Dean doesn’t protest, but he does notice that Cas finishes all of his orange juice.

 

-

 

When Sam calls Bobby to update him on the situation, Bobby informs him that, three and a half foot angel or not, there are omens of demon possession in a town not far from them and they should check it out on their way. Dean really isn’t happy, and grumbles about it the whole drive there.

 

At the motel, the proprietor’s daughter is sitting in the foyer, carefully drawing a picture of a crucifix. When she sees Cas looking, she explains she’s making scripture cards. Her mother – a round-faced woman named Suzie – elaborates as she hands over the keys for their room, saying that it’s an activity for their church group.

 

“Children are close to God,” the girl tells Cas happily as she adds yellow rays of sunlight to her picture. “The cards help me pray.”

 

Cas’s eyes light up with sudden hope. “I want to do some. Maybe they can help me find God.”

 

Suzie laughs good naturedly and retrieves some blank cards and coloured pencils for them. Dean is suspiciously supportive of Cas’s endeavour. It takes Sam until they get inside their room to realise why; Dean manages to wrangle a promise out of Cas to stay at the motel while they investigate around town for the demon. When Cas absently agrees, already opening his packet of pencils, Dean sets an orange juice down on the table.

 

Cas is already drawing as the brothers leave the room. Once they are outside, Sam raises an eyebrow at Dean. “Dude, are you going to mother hen him the whole time he’s stuck looking like a little kid?”

 

“What? No!” Dean flushes and glares. “Shut up.”

 

-

 

When they return to the motel, they can hear a muffled ruckus coming from inside their room and they break into a run.

 

Dean almost has a heart attack when he throws open the door to find the room in disarray and Cas looking extremely small as he grapples against a bulky man with black eyes. The shadow of wings fill the wall behind him, arched aggressively, and the trench coat sways through the air as Cas twists back and forth.

 

Sam and Dean throw themselves forward, seizing the demon’s arms and wrenching him back away from the angel. Cas drops down onto his feet. When the demon tears himself free of the Winchesters, Cas thrusts his hand forward, his palm connecting with the demon’s chest. The demon is thrown across the room, slamming into the wall. Before it can get to its feet, Sam drives Ruby’s knife into its neck.

 

“Cas! What the hell?” Dean barks, moving closer to the angel to check him over for injury.

 

“It broke in ten minutes ago.” Cas reports diligently.

 

“Can’t leave you alone for five minutes,” he huffs.

 

“You have been gone for six hours and eighteen minutes, Dean.” Cas’s shoulder relaxes beneath Dean’s hand. “I considered whether to smite the demon, but – ”

 

“I know you’re reserving your mojo, Cas, but for the sake of my sanity, please smite the dick next time.” Dean sighs. “Jesus Christ.”

 

Dean volunteers to get rid of the body – and get some beer with which to sooth his nerves with – so Sam and Cas agree to straighten the room out while he’s gone. “How did it find you?” Sam asks as he sets the table back the right way up.

 

“It wasn’t looking for me.” Cas kneels on the floor to gather together some of the coloured pencils. “The demon’s presence here was a trap for you. He used to work for Alistair. He wanted to capture you and hand you over to Lucifer; though he was pleased to discover me. He thought I would make an interesting gift as well.”

 

Sam feels a shudder ripple through him. This had probably been a close call for both of them. “We better leave as soon as possible then.” Just in case.

 

Cas agrees before effortlessly lifting up the side of one of the beds in order to retrieve two pencils that had rolled beneath it. Sam smiles and scoops up a pile of loose papers and newspaper articles. He shuffles them together, tapping them against the tabletop to try and straighten them out and some small pieces of card slide free. Sam sets the papers down and reaches for the cards.

 

The first one has a detailed drawing of a horn on it. The words beside it read ‘I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto thee.’ A lot of effort had been put into both the artwork and the calligraphy. The next card, in comparison, has clearly not been done to the same standard – and then Sam realises what he is looking at. This one reads ‘How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!’ A half-hearted depiction of a shining star is sketched beside the scripture. Sam hastily moves on, but is surprised that the next one had been abandoned altogether.

 

The words ‘And at that time shall Michael stand up, the great prince’ are barely still legible beneath the thick black lines Cas has used to cross them out.

 

The last card gives Sam pause. There is a small boy in a trench coat standing beside the shadowy outline of a large man. A banner across the top reads ‘I rejoiced greatly that I found of thy children walking in truth’ and along the bottom is ‘as we have received a commandment from the Father.’

 

He glances down into nervous bright blue eyes. “These are really nice, Cas.” He says softly. He offers the cards back to the angel. Cas takes them slowly and then asks quietly if Sam thinks he’ll ever find his Father. “I hope so,” Sam replies honestly. Cas stuffs the cards into the pocket of his trench coat and says nothing else about them. He smiles up at Sam sadly.

 

-

 

They’ve barely driven five miles when Cas abruptly jerks forward from where he’s sitting in the backseat. “Pull over,” he demands.

 

Dean swears and slams on the breaks. “What’s wrong?”

 

“There’s an angel nearby,” Cas shoves the door open and scrambles out of the car. Sam and Dean rush to follow suit. “Usually when one gets this close I take flight to try and lose them.” But he cannot risk flying given his current situation. “The two of you should continue on while I deal with the angel.”

 

Icy cold horror grips Dean, remembering what happened the last time Cas had insisted on remaining behind to hold another angel off. “Screw that!” He snarls.

 

Cas knows better than to waste any time arguing. “Then give me your knife.” He makes a cut on his arm, using his blood to begin sketching a banishing sigil on the road.

 

He is halfway through the design when a hand curls around the collar of his trench coat and pulls. He is jerked violently backwards and hears Dean’s outraged shout as he is flung through the air. He lands with his trench coat tangled awkwardly around his legs.

 

A man with slicked blond hair wearing a well pressed suit looms over him, blade in hand and contempt in his eyes. “Castiel.”

 

“Raziel.” Cas manifests his own blade, raising it in warning. He shifts, calculating the most efficient way to rise to his feet. He sees Sam working on another sigil on the ground by the Impala – despite Dean’s obvious misgivings – and he is confident he can hold Raziel’s attentions until Sam is ready. “You can walk away from this, brother.”

 

“You know I cannot.” Raziel frowns. “Return willingly and I will plead your case to Zachariah, that your rehabilitation may be merciful.”

 

“I shall not.”

 

Raziel’s expression darkens at his defiance and thunder rumbles distantly. Cas moves at the same moment as his brother and their blades ring as they clash together. Unfortunately, the current size of Cas’s vessel places him within arm’s reach of Raziel, who reaches out with his right hand to seize Cas’s left arm. As he does this, Cas pulls his blade back and slices into Raziel’s left hand, angling the blade to slide in along his palm.

 

The motion makes Raziel drop his own blade. “You will suffer greatly for this!” He roars.

 

Cas slashes at him again. Raziel deflects with such force that Cas reels back and his blade almost leaves his hand – he clings to it desperately with the tips of his fingers. He manages to readjust his grip and as he drives the blade fiercely at Raziel’s wrist, he shouts.

 

“Now, Sam!”

 

Raziel releases Cas with a pained snarl simultaneously as Sam slams his hand down onto the banishing sigil. The two angels are thrown off the earthy plane in separate directions.

 

-

 

Castiel is torn through the spiritual plane raggedly and he cannot stop screaming. He keeps his true form curled tightly within his vessel, trying to protect it from the metaphysical force of the sigil’s impact. He hopes that buffering it will mean his banishment won’t result in any complications for the restoration of his vessel. To aid that, he is forced to spread his wings out wide, to take the brunt of the shock. The pain is exquisite.

 

When he crashes back into the earthly plane, he stumbles with the force of his landing. He collapses on the ground, attempting to orient himself as he takes stock of his condition. Fortunately, his vessel has remained unscathed, seemingly untouched by his impromptu flight. His wings on the other hand ache tenderly and he tries to hold them as still as possible so as not to aggravate them. He is unsure how long they will remain incapacitated for – with his dwindling supply of grace, they may not begin to heal until after his vessel is returned to normal. Fear whispers at him that he may not recover the use of his wings at all, and while this has always been a possible risk of his rebellion, the stark reality that it may be upon him _right now_ makes him tremble.

 

His vessel – entwined so closely into the wavelength of his true form – physically expresses this realisation with tears. For the first time since his vessel was affected, he is acutely aware of his diminutive form. He curls in on himself, tugging his trench coat around him as he does.

 

“Woah, hey there kiddo, are you okay?”

 

Cas jerks back, his gaze snapping to the speaker. A man is standing nearby, peering down at him in concern. He is an unremarkable individual, middle-aged perhaps, with greying hair. Cas blinks his tears away and squints, puzzled. The man’s soul looks slightly fuzzy – Cas cannot get a proper look at it. He doesn’t bother trying to sharpen his sight to attempt a closer inspection; the ambiguity is likely a result of his grace presently being spread too thin.

 

The man approaches him slowly. “You’re hurt,” he observes, his voice gentle. “Let me help you with that.” The man pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and kneels beside Cas, carefully wrapping it around his forearm. The handkerchief is quite large and completely encases the cut on his arm. “There you go, that will stop the bleeding.”

 

As the man gets back to his feet, the phone in the pocket of Cas’s trench coat begins to ring. The man watches calmly as Cas pulls it out to answer. “Dean.”

 

“CAS!” Dean’s voice is loud in his ear. “Are you okay?! Where are you?!”

 

“I am alive,” Cas informs him and hears Dean snort. “My location,” he begins, before pausing. He is uncertain, he realises suddenly, still disorientated from his banishment. The Good Samaritan interjects helpfully with the name of the town and Cas repeats this information into the phone.

 

Dean sighs in relief. “That’s only about an hour away. Lucky you didn’t get sent very far, huh? I guess ‘cause you’re just a little guy.”

 

_“Dean.”_

 

Dean laughs, then advises him that they are coming to get him. He agrees to find somewhere quiet to ‘hang tight’ for an hour. “There’s a diner down the road,” the man tells him. “I could wait with you until your friend arrives.”

 

“Who the hell is that?” Dean demands suspiciously. “Dammit Cas, lesson one of being a little kid is don’t talk to strangers!”

 

“He ‘bandaged’ my injury,” Cas points out, “and I would sense if he had any ill intentions. I will accompany this man to the diner and await your arrival.”

 

“All right,” Dean relents grudgingly. “But remember Cas, if he’s shifty, you smite him. Or use your angel blade, whatever. Don’t let him hurt you.” Dean makes an approving noise when Cas agrees. “Good. Now give him the phone.”

 

Cas does, and listens as Dean makes a very detailed threat as to what he will do to the man if Cas is mistreated in any way.

 

-

 

The diner is practically empty when they arrive. “Hey honey,” the man calls out to the waitress as he slides into a booth. “Can we get two giant stacks of pancakes over here?” He smiles as Cas sits opposite him. “So, little one, what do I call you?”

 

“Castiel.”

 

“Ed Coleman,” he offers in return. “You’ve been through some rough times lately. I’m sorry.” His apology is deeply sincere, but then his expression brightens jovially when the pancakes arrive. He slides a jar across to Cas. “Maple syrup for you, and strawberry for me!” Cas, remembering Sam’s earlier comments about eating, watches Ed and applies an equal amount of syrup to his own pancakes. It is a similar quantity that Dean would use, so he supposes his imitation is correct.

 

“Now make sure you eat it all.” Ed tells him. “You’ll feel much better afterwards.”

 

The pancakes taste no more extraordinary than the waffles he had eaten in the last diner, but he does start to feel somewhat better as he consumes them. Perhaps it is a psychosomatic effect of the human’s belief in their healing properties. He and Ed continue to eat, mostly in silence, though Ed offers a few observations about how protective Dean had sounded on the phone.

 

“He must mean a lot to you, huh?”

 

“Yes.” Cas sets his fork down on the empty plate. “Dean is very important to me.”

 

Ed hums around his own fork. “That’s what I thought.” He doesn’t add anything else, picking up a spoon and pouring some strawberry syrup straight onto it. After he swallows that down he asks, “so how are you feeling?”

 

Cas automatically shifts his wings and is surprised to discover the pain is gone. He spreads them out to their full span without problem and smiles. “I am better.”

 

Ed smiles shrewdly. “Glad to hear that.”

 

-

 

The door to the diner opens and Dean enters, his face lighting up with relief when he sees him. “Cas!”

 

Cas extracts himself from the booth. “Hello, Dean. Thank you for coming to get me so quickly.” It has only been forty three minutes since they had spoken on the phone.

 

Dean’s smile turns soft. “No problem buddy. You sure you’re okay?”

 

“I am fine. Your threats of bodily harm towards Ed were needless.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Dean is unrepentant. “Sam’s waiting in the car, we should head out.” As Ed gets out of the booth too, Dean turns his attention to him, genuinely grateful. “Hey, man, thanks for looking out for him.” Dean considers Ed for a moment; he thinks the man seems familiar somehow, but he can’t recall from where.

 

“I was in the neighbourhood,” Ed replies easily, “and I’ve been lost away from home. I get it.” Then he grins suddenly. “Incoming!” He reaches down and – in a display of more strength and speed than Cas would have anticipated from him – the man sweeps him up, bundling him up within his trench coat, and deposits him into Dean’s surprised arms. “Here’s your precious one back where he belongs!”

 

Dean feels his face burn hot. “Uh,” he manages intelligently.

 

Cas would inform Ed about Dean’s personal space requirements but he finds that he is extremely content to remain exactly where he is. He is also distracted by Dean’s shoulder; he can’t see the handprint beneath the hunter’s clothes but his grace hums at its closeness. Curiously he wriggles one of his hands free and settles it over where he knows the mark to be. He carried Dean out of hell; now Dean is carrying him.

 

Dean shifts slightly and Cas scrunches his fingers into Dean’s shirt so Dean can’t put him down yet. Ed chuckles. “You’re a good kid,” he says distantly and his smile is wistful. “See you around, Castiel.”

 

-

 

Ed Coleman waits until Dean has turned his back, heading for the exit with Castiel safely snuggled in his arms, before adding softly, “take care of yourself, little one.” Then he shakes his head, snaps his fingers and vanishes.

 

-

 

The only reason Sam decides not to comment about Dean gently setting Cas down in the back seat is because he manages to sneak a photo of the sight of them both leaving the diner, unnoticed.

 

Cas is surprised to find the skin of his arm smooth and unblemished when he removes the handkerchief-bandage. Dean suggests that his mojo is ‘extra awesome,’ and he concedes the point. After all, his wings have healed too – his grace must have repaired them both.

 

-

 

When they finally arrive at Bobby’s Cas speaks up immediately, his tone solemn. “My feet are experiencing discomfort.”

 

Sam’s expression is serious and his own voice is completely deadpan as he replies. “That’s unfortunate, Cas. I guess Dean’s just going to have to carry you inside.” And then he is out of the car and striding swiftly towards Bobby’s house before Dean can so much as blink.

 

When Dean looks in the rear view mirror and sees blue eyes, wide and hopeful, staring back at him – well, how the hell is he supposed to refuse that? “Oh, fine,” he mutters. He absolutely does not think about how nice it is to hold Cas in his arms.

 

-

 

Cas’s feet ‘experience discomfort’ almost constantly for the next two days. Dean continues to sigh long-sufferingly before gathering up an armful of trench coat swaddled angel, but he fights back a grin each time.

 

Sam covertly obtains twelve more pictures and is debating whether he should put together some form of collage, as proof that his brother and an Angel of the Lord are actually this cute.

 

Bobby just shakes his head and mutters under his breath that the lot of them are idjits.

 

-

 

“Ah.”

 

Dean, who is expecting at least another half an hour before Cas decides he needs to relocate from the couch back to the kitchen for no reason, turns to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing is wrong,” Cas replies. “But I believe my vessel is going to revert to its usual appearance in fifteen minutes.”

 

Neither Dean nor Sam give any sign that they are perhaps slightly disappointed that they are going to lose their tiny angel. They both know it will be useful to have Cas back to normal, with unrestricted access to what there is of his grace again, but they can’t deny that they haven’t enjoyed the smaller version of him – demon attacks and angel fights aside.

 

“Your clothes are upstairs,” Sam offers helpfully, as Dean gets to his feet. He stops by the couch and eyes Cas.

 

“Need a lift?”

 

“Hmm.” Cas swiftly clambers to his feet on the couch, grasping for Dean’s shoulders and pulling himself up until he is curled around Dean’s back. Dean yelps in surprise, hands flying back to steady the angel and Sam chokes back a laugh. The bottom of the trench coat ends up wedged under Dean’s hands as he supports Cas’s weight, the fabric cradling the angel within it. Cas slides one hand down to loosely rest against the place where his handprint is hidden by Dean’s shirt and loops the other around Dean’s chest for balance. “This is acceptable.”

 

“Cas, dude!” Dean protests, but doesn’t dislodge him as he starts walking. Sam can still hear the two of them speaking as they move away, heading for the stairs.

 

“You failed to specify what particular lift you meant.”

 

“You knew exactly what I meant, you…hey, are you actually _perched on my shoulder_ right now?”

 

“… _Dean._ ”

 

Sam starts laughing.

 

-

 

Dean is in the kitchen when he hears the sound of wings behind him. He turns to see the fully grown, adult version of Castiel standing there, dressed in his full holy tax accountant get up once more. “Look at you.” He smiles. “Everything back in order?” He wonders if the trench coat has always fit Cas that well, or if it’s just because the coat had seemed so large when he had been smaller.

 

Cas nods. “Both my vessel and my grace have been restored to what they were before the encounter with the witch.”

 

“That’s good.” And it is. Dean has missed this version of Cas and is glad to see him back to normal. But his traitorous arms won’t stop feeling empty. Dean busies himself with setting the platter of sandwiches he’s made for lunch down on the table. “You want a beer?”

 

“Do we have orange juice?” Thrown by this response, Dean just shakes his head. “I will have to acquire some then.” Cas stares at Dean for a long moment. Then he says in a rush, “my feet are no longer experiencing any discomfort. Therefore, it is clear that holding you worked well as an effective treatment. I hope you will also assist me with any other discomfort in the future.” Cas vanishes as soon as he finishes speaking. Dean stares at the space he had been, a little poleaxed.

 

“Dean…” Sam says slowly from the doorway, his voice thick with amusement. “Did Cas just prescribe himself cuddles with you to feel better?”

 

Dean whirls around and hurls a sandwich across the room.

 

When Cas returns with a carton of orange juice, he is very confused as to why there is lettuce in Sam’s hair.

 

-

**Author's Note:**

> -
> 
> The excerpts from the King James Bible mentioned are as followed:
> 
> Luke 1:19  
> And the angel answering said unto him, I am Gabriel, that stand in the presence of God; and am sent to speak unto thee, and to shew thee these glad tidings.
> 
> Daniel 12:1  
> And at that time shall Michael stand up, the great prince which standeth for the children of thy people: and there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation even to that same time: and at that time thy people shall be delivered, every one that shall be found written in the book
> 
> Isaiah 14:12  
> How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!
> 
> 2 John 1:4  
> I rejoiced greatly that I found of thy children walking in truth, as we have received a commandment from the Father.
> 
> Raphael is not named in the King James Bible – and Castiel decided not to do one for Raphael anyway, since the “little bitch” had smote him.
> 
>  
> 
> The angel ‘Raziel’ is listed as the ‘Keeper of Secrets’
> 
>  
> 
> Ed Coleman is The Pancake Man in ‘Mystery Spot’ – AKA The Trickster, AKA The Archangel Gabriel.
> 
> -


End file.
